


Jog My Memory

by sdd_writes_things



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: ??? maybe, F/M, Game Spoilers, Gen, Mostly fan speculation, Scar/injury headcanons, Some mentions of blood??, Spoilers, Trigger warning for scars, and i dont know all of what happens in the japanese version, and i particularly enjoy it, because the adventure log in the english version is lacking???, but yeah this is mostly just, i also plan on getting it soon so, i figured im just gonna do my own summary of link's pov throughout the game, i havent actually played botw but i know how it goes bc game grumps, some angst regarding link's amnesia, there's not even that much zelink till like the last little bit, zelink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 02:45:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12245529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdd_writes_things/pseuds/sdd_writes_things
Summary: He doesn't remember how he got the scars that ripple across his torso. He can feel their tightness on his back and when he looks down at his wet bare hands he doesn't recognize those white lines that tell of battles he may have fought once.His wet hair drips in front of his eyes--what color are they?--and he just sits for a moment, shivering in the darkness. That voice called him by name. His name is Link? He's not sure he can trust that voice but he latches on anyway and does what She tells him because right now that's all he's got.





	Jog My Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so i know you guys are waiting for like,,, a meaningful Oh God I Hate You update but ive only had inspiration for zelda recently so please forgive me on that lmao
> 
> In the meantime have this one-shot and ill try to work on my Rogue One fics as much as possible

He doesn't remember how he got the scars that ripple across his torso. He can feel their tightness on his back and when he looks down at his wet bare hands he doesn't recognize those white lines that tell of battles he may have fought once.

His wet hair drips in front of his eyes--what color are they?--and he just sits for a moment, shivering in the darkness. That voice called him by name. His name is Link? He's not sure he can trust that voice but he latches on anyway and does what She tells him because right now that's all he's got.

His first steps are shaky but quickly grow stronger and he finds some old clothes in a couple chests and barrels in the foyer. She'd smiled when she told him of the Sheikah Slate, like She was laughing. He could hear it on Her voice. He uses it now to completely open this cave, and he steps into the sun.

It's warm on his damp skin and he covers his eyes and She's speaking now--“You're the light”, She says--and he runs into the open to feel the breeze on his skin and smell the fresh air and try to remember how blue the sky is and in this moment he feels emptiest.

There's a castle in the distance. He should know it. He doesn't. Why is he remembering the sun and the sky and the grass and the everything of life as he should know it  _ now _ , when he feels so old? When he feels aged beyond the spring in his step and tightness of his skin and the muscles in his limbs? Where scars don't cut across his body his skin is young and soft and there are only faint callouses on his palms from weapons he's not sure he ever wielded. Why does he feel so wizened? So unfathomably tired like the strain of a thousand battles has built up behind floodgates that have finally burst and is now washing him away into a void where his only certainty is that he's uncertain of everything? Even his own name?

He speaks more than once with a man he meets in the fields. He is an old man who offers guidance and a paraglider and identifies the voice for him. Her name is Zelda.

Link crumbles more on the inside when the old man reveals himself to be the spirit of the king, Zelda’s father. He  _ knew _ Zelda. He knew her well and he cannot remember her face and he only recognizes her voice because she occasionally speaks to him from her prison in the castle. Alone in the night he cries out with frustration because the voice was his friend and Zelda knows he does not remember and can't do much to help him.

His first few nights are spent wide awake, seething at everything and nothing and whatever gods he might have believed in a hundred years ago. Mostly he curses himself for not remembering. 

 

After a month he remembers some things. He remembers a knighting ceremony of sorts, and finally remembers Zelda’s face. She's young, can't be any older than him, and a couple inches taller. Her big green eyes are pained and downcast and he does not understand why her voice strains when she speaks to him. Why is he a reminder of her failures? Why does she dislike him? When she speaks to him now it's nothing but warmth.

He decides it must be an early memory, from a time when their alliance was forced and she didn't take well to it. 

 

More time passes. Now he remembers the scars he gains and knows why his muscles ache in the morning. His hands are rough and his hair is longer and it's been a few days since he's taken a bath. He's had to get rid of some of his clothes, whether for the unmendable damage they've taken or the fact that the sleeves don't fit over his arm muscles anymore. He's tanned and freckled and there's stubble on his chin he doesn't entirely mind but would like to get rid of the next time he has a chance.

He remembers Revali and Urbosa now. He can't say he missed his memories of the Rito, especially on regaining them, but Urbosa is a sight for sore eyes. She was a mother figure to him, and it's a relief to have found her.

And he remembers more of Zelda. He remembers her yelling at him, ignoring him, treating him unfairly. He remembers coming to protect her regardless.

 

He visits Impa. He stays in the village a few days, and there are late nights where the old woman tells him who he is, who he was. Who he was to Zelda.

Many times he asks her to elaborate. Many times she winks and tells him she will, only after he regains all his obtainable memories. “If you do well,” she teases, “I'll even give you back your Champion’s tunic.”

 

It's been six months. Link rinses the sweat and soot and grime from his skin in his home in Hateno village. For a few moments he just stands and stares into the mirror.

He looks exhausted. There's a burn on his left forearm from Death Mountain, a bruise on his ribs from Zora’s Domain. There are scars somewhere on his body from Vah Medoh and Vah Naboris, but he's lost track of those, and he remembers now why he chose to stay mute a century ago, but he's so used to speaking in this life that it is a habit he will have trouble dropping.

He ties back his hair, cut to a workable length once again. His face is clean-shaven and he scrubs a towel over it to rid it of any lasting grit. He's so tired, and he still pulls on his Champion’s tunic. He still straps the bracer to his right arm and he still tugs on his gloves and he still buckles his belt around his waist. Zelda, as he most distinctly remembers her--muddy, bruised, broken, sobbing into his arms in the rain because she felt their friends’ deaths were her fault--needs him. Zelda, as he most recently remembers her--hiding mourning behind her eyes, requesting the Great Deku Tree tell him  _ something important _ \--also needs him.

But he failed to pull the sword last time. He will not fail again. The Trials have strengthened him and he will not succumb.

And he doesn't. He leaves the Lost Woods with the sword on his back, pouring memories from his childhood onward into his mind as he jogs along. It's overwhelming and loud and sudden but he cannot stop. Every now and then an emotional memory--his mother's death, holding Zelda close to his chest in the freezing waters of the Spring of Power--strikes him hard and he stumbles, but he grits his teeth and picks up the pace. It is a final Trial, of sorts, to make sure he stays in the moment.

So far, he's succeeding.

 

He succeeds to the castle gates and then he breaks. He breaks because the Master Sword’s final blow is a soft, warm memory, of Zelda’s hand in his in a field under the sun, of gentle and comfortable touch, of butterflies and flowers and an apple shared between them.

He collapses on his knees and draws in a sharp, jagged breath. His vision blurs with tears and he bloodies his lip between his teeth in an effort to keep those tears from spilling.

He  _ knew _ Zelda. He knew her intimately and he remembers her face like he remembers the sun and he recognizes her voice because she cared enough for him to confide in him about anything and everything and he could expect her voice like he could expect the sun to rise.

_ Get up _ , urges the Sword, gently, wordlessly.

He does. If he wants to see Zelda again, he has to.

Fighting Ganon is easier than he expects. It feels easier than some of his other battles. Maybe it's Zelda’s voice, encouraging him on, just barely concealing her giddiness for the battle to be finally over. Maybe it's the prospect of being able to touch her and hold her and speak with her and breathe her in and drown in her arms that gives him strength he didn't know he had. Or, simply, maybe it's the mystical Sword of Evil’s Bane that makes the battle swift.

He doesn't care. He just lets out an unrestrained, teary, unfathomably relieved whoop of joy when the monster is sealed away, and practically falls off his horse when he finally spots Zelda.

He runs up to her and stops only tantalizing feet away and she asks him if he remembers her and oh Hylia he does but he's so overwhelmed and so instead he closes the distance and holds her tightly and he's crying but he doesn't care because she's  _ here _ . She lets out a sob of relief and hugs him back with a vice-like grip, knotting her fingers in his hair and shirt.

He laughs, and then laughs harder and louder and he's  _ high _ because he's so happy, so much the opposite of the empty amnesiac he was when he woke up half a year ago and he picks her up and spins her around and holds her still again, burying his face in her neck. Still laughing, still crying, he asks, “What did you want the Deku Tree to tell me?”

She laughs and replies, “I think you already know.”

She kisses his hair and he smiles so wide it hurts and he pulls her close so that there's nowhere they aren't touching.

“You're right, I do.”


End file.
